


Hide Under The Wings of Your Enemy

by prisonmechanic



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers: Prime
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gladiators, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2019-08-03 14:56:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16328168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prisonmechanic/pseuds/prisonmechanic
Summary: Optimus Prime receives the Matrix a hell of a lot earlier than usual.Kinda a mix between tfp and idw just to make things work.





	1. The Death of Sentinel Prime

The cheers were always deafening as he left the arena. The Energon drying on his plating had already begun to dry, becoming sticky in his seams and joints. Despite this the powerful rush of a battle still coursed through his lines, keeping his pace quicker than it needed to be as he aimed for the washracks. That rush still lingered, heightening his senses to a point even the stale air smell of the private quarters attacked his olfactory sensors. When the brush of another mech brushed up against his own Megatronus had to calm his battle protocols. 

Soundwave kept pace as he headed further into the arena private quarters. There was a question there; Soundwave never really needed to talk to get a message across. But Soundwave was always patient. There were still too many bodies around them to talk freely. The wash racks would provide some well-needed privacy for one and make the medic much friendlier when he arrived. 

When finally they reached a stall, Megatronus turned on the solvent and a cold rush fell over his frame. Soundwave waited at the stall entrance, small solvent droplets cascaded off his own plating and landed on the silent mech behind him. Still, Soundwave didn't move. 

To the left of Megatronus, another familiar face peeked over the stall wall as he rinsed. Other than that it seemed silent. 

“Was he here?” Breakdown's steady voice asked from the stall to his left. 

Megatronus let silence return to the room for a click. Stretching to rinse the underside of the plating under his arm, finally, he released the hold on his own EM field. 

Shockwave didn't budge but Breakdown visibly scowled at the pooling of anger that thrived in the reach of the gladiator's field. Breakdown gapped as the anger eventually ebbed into something slightly more stable though still prickly. 

“He sent a messenger, the slagger,” Megatronus groundout. Bringing a fist to the stall wall only added to the mass of dents already littering its surface. One of these times it would crack, but today it still held firm. 

The only thing with backbone here apparently. 

When he had spotted the colourful seeker in the crowd and recognized the symbols on it's wings as his and Starscream's identifier he was furious. That anger had helped him slit his opponent's throat but now provided no good will in their agreements.

“ _ Meeting; will be arranged, _ ” Soundwave tried to soothe him. 

Megatronus’ field pulled in together once more. No, if Starscream wanted to play coy about backing him then he would be treated like the scared sparkling he was. It was just a matter of sending the right message this time around. And obviously, you couldn't threaten someone you were trying to persuade. 

“Send Knockout,” Megatronus shut off the solvent and turned his helm to breakdown, “He’s chatty enough and will make a good impression. I have no time for mechs who won't make a trip to Koan on principles alone.”

So what if he was still salty about that ‘city of ground pounders’ remark when they had first contacted each other. And while he could understand the Vosian Noble mech to be cautious but it was starting to get ridiculous at this point. Megatronus was tired of meeting surrogates. 

Moving past Soundwave, the gladiator brought a rag up to his frame and wiped himself down quickly. Energon continued to leak from a few of his wounds and now that the thrill of battle had subsided he could actually feel them. The one on his left side bit at him specifically. Still, he could only hope the repairs weren't too expensive. No use in wasting shanix on a wound he had gotten only because he was angry.

“Why are we still hiding out like this? Most mechs are on your side Megatronus.” Breakdown grumbled from behind Megatronus. The slosh of water falling from his seams followed immediately after his quip. He could never go home to Knockout with grit in his seams but that also meant he spent way too long cleaning himself after a fight. 

“ _ Not every mech, _ ” Soundwave hissed at him, perhaps a little too harshly. And of course, he left it at that, expecting Breakdown to pick up on it. 

“It only takes one mech to report something Breakdown,” Megatronus provided. 

Breakdown nodded from his stall, still obviously grasping the concept. He turned off the solvent and tilted himself a few times, dumping the solvent from where it pooled in his armor. 

Megatron went to give another command but cut himself short as another mech; distinctly one Megatron didn't know if they held his sympathies or not, entered the room.

“I’ll tell Knockout after his shift,” Breakdown walked out of his own stall and joined Megatronus in drying himself, “He’s doin’ good. Scored himself an assistant job at backstreet aesthetics shop.”

Keeping the conversational pace masked their surprise at the intruder. Finally, Megatron deemed himself dry enough to head to the medical bay. With only a few minor cuts to a few of his lines and several dents, there was no rush to the medical bay. But still, waisted energon was wasted energon.

“Perhaps he can do my painting next time,” Megatronus responded.

He moved to the door, Soundwave still in tow. Turning into the corridor his second blocked him for a moment, allowing two smaller frames to brush past them, making a mad dash for the arena. Nothing uncommon save for a shift in Soundwave's EM field. 

Another mech, this one significantly larger lumbered after the two. It wasn't until a third frame forced past them they Megatronus registered the chaos unfolding further down the hall. 

With little warning, Megatronus wheeled around and grabbed the arm of the next mech to pass them, “What in the pit is going on?!”

The lithe frame halted his dash and beamed up at Megatronus; an expression so uncommon that Megatronus took an extra nano-sec to register as pure excitement. 

“You didn’t hear?” the mech chirped, motioning for both mechs to fallow him out to the arena floor. 

“Come on! Come on!” the small mech, whom the gladiator finally recognized as one of his followers, basically dragged him out and back towards where his fight had just finished. 

Medics, gladiators and patrons alike pooled together, but still, little more than the hum of whispers filled the stadium. The entrances we're crowded but most mech's parted ways for Megatronus to approach the fighting pit. The crowd was eerily quiet, a far cry from their uproar when he was usually on the floor. Above them, the usual highlight monitor, for as cracked and scratched as it was, played some sort of emergency broadcast. No doubt a mandatory one from Iacon. Words Calling their attention and thanking them for waiting scrolled leisurely across the screen as framed buzzed around them. 

At some point, they had crowded Megatronus and Soundwave towards the front of the crowd. The screen switched to life and a mech Megatronus found familiar but couldn't quite place sat in front of the screen. His optics, blue and downcast held some sort of sadness to them. Words still scrolled along the bottom, this time stating a date and time for only clicks before the broadcast. 

“It is with great remorse,” the mech started before taking a pause. It was as if the words were hard for him to say. For a brief moment, the mech looked off screen and listened to some mumbling in the background before nodding and looking back at the camera. 

He started a lot stronger this time, “It is with great remorse that I report the Death of Sentinel Prime.”

The crowd roared. 

Just roared. Megatronus couldn't make out any cheers or boo's but the noise was immense, so much so that the broadcaster was drowned out. He was obviously talking but other than what Megatronus could infer from lip reading it was pointless. 

_ “Ding-Dong the Prime is dead,”  _ The crowd began to repeat. 

_ Ding-Dong the Prime is dead. _

_ Ding-Dong the Prime is dead. _

Megatronus turned to Soundwave. Who’s EM field had turned to a cold an abrasive armor around him. His visor was still intent on the screen as if he could make out what the mech was saying. Hesitantly he turned back to the screen himself to see if he could make out anything of use. He kept his attention on the lettering scrolling along the bottom of the screen. 

Most of it was useless details. The time, the date, the place; though that in itself was a bit odd. Who dies in a hall of records? Still, he watched closely as mechs bumped into him left and right. 

_ We regret to inform the general public of Sentinel Prime’s untimely passing only clicks ago. Though it is with great remorse we bring you this emergency broadcast we find it imperative that his assassination be reported on immediately. Anyone with information regarding this crime is encouraged to report it immediately. _

Megatronus froze and reread it as it scrolled past a second, a third, a fourth time. 

_ Assassination. _

_ Assassination. _

**_Assassination._ **

This was not good. 


	2. Something Stressed Meets Something Pretty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preparing to impress Starscream, Megatronus gets thrown off when a tower whore comes along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited. 
> 
> 2,018 words. Fuck me.

“All I’m saying is maybe you  _ should _ take credit for it,” Starscream laid back along with several crates in the warehouse. His wings fluttered with ill-concealed excitement, “To be honest the only reason I took this meeting was that I thought it had been you.”

Megatronus brought an arm up and pinched the metal between his optics. Sure he had found a way to leverage Sentinel's death to his advantage with the Vossian Noble but past that? It made mechs around the arena paranoid, it was drawing attention to his cause and to his writings online. 

Which he supposed was also a blessing and a curse. Left and right his writings were removed only to be re-uploaded to public support. Everything was speeding up at a drastic pace. Once again Megatronus felt as if he was losing control. 

“It would only draw more attention from the Senate, making it easier for them to pinpoint me and the pits specifically,” Megatronus groundout in response. 

It was better to lay low for now, better to let this blow over. 

“ _ Megatronus: May not have to, _ ” Shockwave's melodic tone accompanied the display of several messages online. Both the gladiator and the seeker looked over the screen as it scrolled quickly.

_ You are being deceived,  _ They quoted him over and over. 

_ You are being deceived. _

**_We are the Decepticons_ ** . 

“If you don't start taking credit they're going to start forming into their own beast,” Starscream turned to the gladiator, “They’ve already named themselves, think about what they’ll do with another few  orns .”

Megatronus kept his optics on the screen. Could he actually have standing amongst more than just the mechs around him? The comments just kept coming and coming and coming and-

“You have more pull than you think Megatronus,” Starscream pointed out, waving to the screen with vigor, “Enough pull to make yourself heard all the way in Iacon if you set your sight there.”

It was tempting. So much so Megatronus could almost see the Senate, having his voice heard; propositions for reform, debates over the primal legacy. All of which, would disappear if he admitted to that murder. Who would talk to someone who killed the Prime?

“No,” Megatronus stated, “It wasn’t us and I won’t admit to it. Our image alone will have to gather the masses.”

Starscream groaned but relented. He flicked his wings once more-- this time in annoyance but still returned to his place leaning on a crate. He brought his digits up and began picking at the sharp edge of them as if he had something else on his mind.

“And what of the new Prime?”

“ _ What about him? _ ” Soundwave questioned. 

Starscream flicked his claws as if he had won something. Why had Megatronus wanted him as an ally in the first place? The mech was nothing but snarky and annoying. 

“Zeta Prime has failed to do anything of use to either side,” Megatronus rolled his optics, “Fastest crowned Prime, my aft. He’ll be a pawn to the Senate most likely and nothing more. But I doubt that question was directed for a thoughtful response on the state of power.”

Starscream half shuttered his optics, a small smirk playing on his lips, “What do you plan about doing about him?”

Starscream was asking for commitment. Something tangible, something he could latch into. Which was understandable.  

Megatronus smiled back at him. If it was a show he wanted, it was a show he would get.

* * *

 

On such short notice Megatronus would have to speed up on his most recent writing. And with what? Half a days notice? It was doable but stressful. 

Megatronus wasn't done by the time the arena began bustling with patrons and fighters alike. Soon enough the first rounds had started and Megatronus was still pouring over the scratched up datapad in his servos. 

Newcomers and those desperate enough for a days ration as a warm-up of sorts for the crowd. He never really paid much attention to them anymore-- half the participants we're still addicts anyways. It was three rounds in before Soundwave tapped him on his shoulder and pointed out into the arena in front of them. 

Two mechs wandered into the ring. But it was the one closest to them that caught his attention.

He was stunning. 

A picture out of a history book; the kind of war frame built for colonization before the golden age. Mining frames could only be modified so much to emulate a battle-for ged warrior but there was no comparing to the real thing. Megatronus had though models like him were well discontinued. His pace was striking as he entered the arena. Though his waist was slim, his top-heavy red chassis and bright blue bottom heavy pedes balanced him in a way that was focused on stability through swift but hard-hitting movements. His bright red and blue painting stood out from the regular Grey's and dark colours of the lower castes.

Warframes like him were enforcement district leaders, defense senators. High castes, not a gladiator in the pits. So what? Did he owe some other hot shot in Iacon? Gambled too much and lost the rights to his own life?

“Find out who he is,” Megatronus ordered to Soundwave beside him, putting his datapad into his subspace for now.

Soundwave gave a curt nod and they both turned to the match playing out in front of them. 

The newcomer stalked onto the arena floor, a great sword clutched between his two servos. His opponent was the same size as him though it was obvious he was just as caught off guard as the rest of them. He was an older mining frame but similar enough to Megatronus to be the same size as the newcomer. The difference was stark between them, though Megatronus assumed everything would be in stark difference to the shiny warframe. They both paused and waited for the starting bell. 

When the chime went off his opponent, a mech Megatronus could now name as Dreadwing launched forward, already swiping with a short sword at the war frame. The Newcomer immediately responded, bringing his sword up and blocking skillfully. It took him only a moment to shift his weight and counter with his own swing, made to launch his opponent back more than anythng. 

The newcomer stalled afterward, coming out of his battle stance to look himself over once and down at his sword. His gaze was accusatory as if he was blaming the sword for some unknown offense. Dreadwing saw his opening and took it, coming forward and engaging a thruster mod to pack an extra punch to his swipe at the war frame’s midsection. This time it landed, though it only gashed open his side rather than a middle strike. 

That’s when the warframe changed. 

His optics shifted from a wide-eyed surprise to a blank stare, keeping his focus on the mech before him. A battle mask pulled it’s way over his face and he lowered himself in a more proper stance as Dreadwing attempted a second attack. The newcomer brought his frame inward, blocking the next swipe, but this time as Dreadwing’s blade slid off his own in a whirr of sparks, he took the offensive. 

The war frames grabbed his opponents wrist, leveraged the follow through of his swing and twisted his arm up and around his back; effectively immobilizing him and forcing his back into the newcomer's chest. His hips rolled, but Megatronus would never  admit to watching there outloud. Dreadwing, swiping wildly with his other arm. The war frame simply dropped his own sword and grabbed the flailing appendage and pinned it to Dreadwings chest. 

Had this been a deathmatch Dreadwing would have been dead. 

But it wasn’t; nothing more than an opening match. And so the bell ringed once more and the newcomer released his opponent. Immediately he turned heal and strutted away from his opponent. Dreadwing spat at him as he stalked away back to the gates of the arena.

Megatronus moved to follow him, pushing past the others waiting for their own chance in the ring. The corridor was small, making it difficult to make it to the entrance but the others seemingly got the message and began letting him through. When he finally caught up to the mech, blue energon was caking down his side and he was stood in front of the medical bay entrance. How he'd made it that far that fast was astonishing. But at the pace he was keeping it was no surprise. 

“You’re not supposed to  _ win _ your first  match,” someone mumbled as he pushed past them. 

In front of the war frame a small femme attempted to crowd him into the repair bay. From a distance Megatronus could make out the small mech move to grab the war frame's arm. 

“Don’t touch me!” the newcomer roared, yanking his arm away violently from the small medic. 

The medic took a step back, optics wide. The warframe let out a dangerous rumble of his engines before continuing past her. Megatronus followed, keeping pace as they turned several corners simply following for now. 

Eventually the war build stopped at his own quarters, entering with little haste. 

“You know the medics treat you better if you’re nice to them,” Megatronus chidded, leaning against the door frame. 

The warframe hurriedly grabbed a small bag-- the kind one carried when their subspace was full and began rummaging around his room. There was a despiration to his movements, pulling out drawers from his shelf before quickly shoving them back in. 

“They are inconsequential to me. I don't want any trouble.” 

Despite the mech's frantic motions his tone came out quiet and stoic, as if he was restricting himself. Eventually he seemed to spot what he was looking for-- a small datapad that looked to small for his digits and shoved it in the bag. Following it came a few energon rations and a set of I dentification papers. 

So the mech had enough shanix to buy himself extra rations and had himself boarder crossing rights.

“You aren’t better than us,” Megatronus seathed, “whatever brought you here was a good thing. It’s best you learn our harsh ways now, tower mech.”

Sure, he had at first followed the mech out of curiosity but now it was evident that he was a high caste. It burned Megatronus in a way that he couldn't quite explain. 

He liked seeing a tower mech down in the gutters. 

He liked that he was uncomfortable and struggling like the rest of them.

Why did he have to be so we'll built?

The mech whirled around, slinging the sac over his shoulder and hooking it onto an exhaust pipe. The mech stalked forward, coming face to face with Megatronus and standing there.

His battle mask retracted and he spoke softly. Though his tone was only a fracture away from an emotionless drawl, soft hints of frustration ebbed through. “Yes, well if you want to 'teach me a lesson’ of some sort I'm afraid you'll have to get in line.”

The mech looked him over, dragging his optics from his pedes to his helm as if assessing some foreign qualifications of worthiness. Megatronus wanted to turn into himself some but held firm. There was no way he was going to back down from this mech. 

“Excuse me.”

Megatronus stayed silent but took a side step out from the door. They're optics stayed locked  as the mech slid his door shut. With one last vent the newcomer turned and walked down the hall. 

“I have my own medic,” the newcomer stated, “ but tell the femme I apologise for getting agressive with her.”

Megatronus engaged his voice box to spit something back at him but the insult caught in his throat. His optics focused in red paint on the others door. 

_ ‘Tower Whore’  _ had been painted on his door, hidden until now as it slid into the wall. Megatronus paused and looked over the writing before shaking his helm and turning back towards the arena. 

He has a speach to make after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the support on the first chapter.   
> Here's another


	3. Colours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kiss Kiss suck my nuts
> 
> (like nuts and bolts? Ha? Ha? I'm sorry)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Sanzaru For being my lovely lovely beta

His name was Convoy. 

At least according to the files the arena master kept. Soundwave had confirmed that he was in fact owned by some mech in Iacon; the old chief Medical Officer no less. But past that? 

Nothing. 

Convoy didn't exist anywhere except in the pits. Soundwave had assured him that he has checked everywhere, to the extent he had even checked his own owner's files. Ratbat didn't have anything either. 

Meaning Convoy wasn't his real name. 

Though Megatronus had an idea where he could find his real name it would take some… persuasion to actually get his hands on it. 

It didn't help that the mech spent almost no time at the arena, instead fragging off to some unknown task somewhere else. 

They had another set of fights tomorrow. Convoy would be back for the night. Meaning, he may be able to look at his travel papers while he's in the ring. 

“You’re fawning over him too much,” Starscream had joked, “I can’t blame you. He is a pretty thing after all. For a grounder.”

“Megatronus; distracted,” Soundwave had grumbled, “Convoy; a threat.”

A threat to his cause? Yes. 

Personally...?

“I didn’t know who else to ask,” Convoy had sounded so lost when he had approached Megatronus that night. 

When the mech had shown him a small can of paint and looked up at him with pleading optics and… well, Megatronus had always been a sucker for a pretty face. 

Convoy had led him, gripped his servo and pulled him into his room. 

Megatronus ignored the ‘ _ Tower Whore’ _ still painted on the door and Convoy had pulled him into the room and shut the door behind them. 

“Why exactly did you ask me to do this?” Megatronus changed the topic. No need to get more involved than he had too. That and the sudden request was odd. 

Up until now Convoy had continued his ‘walk-in, beat someone up, and walk-out’ routine. And in a sense, it had gained himself notoriety as some mysterious mech but it wouldn’t get him far. And that simply brought up the question of exactly why he had decided to change now? Had someone put him up to it? Was it some sort of joke? Megatronus wouldn't put it past most mechs in this place.

“It may surprise you but most other mechs simply ignore me,” Convoy shrugged, “I’m not deluded, I don't have a lot of friends here. Despite the conversation you’ve been the most civil towards me since I've been here.”

Megatronus found that hard to believe at first. Convoy was pretty, a high caste and well… well, those would be the exact reasons the mechs here would hate him, wouldn't they? And yet still Megatronus found himself not  _ hating _ the mech per say. Did he feel justified in the mechs downward luck? Yes. Well maybe. Did he hate the mech? No. 

It was easy to be angry at someone in a vague sense. It was easy to hate the idea of the upper caste as a whole. But when put in front of him, a high caste he spoke out against so often, well that hate faltered. And what seemed to remain was a hesitance, barely enough aggression to raise a servo unprovoked to the mech. 

“I’ve never ah… done this before. Painting myself, I mean. Or detailing really.” Convoy admitted softly, placing both the brush and paint can in Megatronus’ servos. The gladiator only grunted in response, opening up the small detailing can and dipping in the end of it to stir up the pigment. 

“Somehow I find it hard to believe a mech like you has never been detailed before,” Megatronus brought the brush-up, now coated in yellow paint up to convoy’s face. 

The mech before him held still as Megatronus dragged the brush carefully down from the war frames optic and down to his intake in one swift swoop. Carefully, he repeated the process on the other eye. It was delicate work but something he was used to, painting himself before his own matches. Pulling back for a moment to make sure the lines were even, gave convoy a breath to respond. 

“Not really,” Convoy muttered, “My job in Iacon was more of a ‘heard and not seen’ kind of job. I mean I buffed myself when I knew the boss was going to be around but that was really the extent of it.”

Megatronus lifted the brush again, silencing Convoy with three more strokes of yellow connecting the one under his optic to the side of his helm. He hadn’t been professionally detailed before? And what sort of tower mech would want to hide away a frame like Convoy’s? 

“I would say I’m surprised you’ve never been painted given your frame, but your choice in colour gives it away,” Keep it light, get the painting done and maybe peek at his papers. That’s it. Nothing more. He was doing this to gain this mech’s trust.

No matter how gorgeously built the mech was in front of him.

Convoy swatted his hand away, smudging the last line as he finished it, “Oh primus, is it really that bad? I couldn’t match a red to my own paint and I thought maybe a primary colour scheme would...” Convoy trailed off, “It’s not that bad is it?”

Why Convoy wanted to cover his faceplates alluded the gladiator in the first place, why he picked such a striking colour was another question entirely. 

“It’s not horrible,” Megatronus said, reaching for a cloth to wipe the smudge off, “Just really striking is all.”

Megatronus licked the cloth and brought it up to Convoy’s cheek, wiping up the smudged line with a few flicks, “You didn’t need to paint in the first place, it covers your faceplates too much.”

The look Convoy gave him was one of pure and utter shock, giving him such a younger look to the usually stoic mech. It was if the one simple compliment had short circuited the war frames processor and he stood there frozen for a moment.

It was just a compliment. Given, not a straightforward one but still.

“Primus I knew it was stupid!” Convoy stood, dragging to wash rag with him up to the mirror on the other side of the small room. Megatronus definitely, did not watch the way his hips swayed as he moves across the room. Definitely not.

Megatronus stood and turned, watching as Convoy scrubbed harshly at his face plates. It took several minutes and a bottle of cleanser got involved at some point but eventually, Convoy stopped scrubbing and looked to Megatronus. 

“Sorry, this was really stupid.”

Megatronus gaped for a moment, not exactly sure how to respond, “Why paint yourself in the first place?”

Convoy dragged the cloth once more down his face before returning to Megatronus’ side and picking up the can of paint, “I was told participating more would better engage the audience. I need the Shanix. Besides… you all do it.”

Megatronus rolled his optics, “What they had meant was to add a bit performance to your fights instead of simply walking out. And  _ besides _ most mechs do it to cover their scars.”

Convoy moved cautiously towards him, looking his faceplates over. Suddenly self conscious Megatronus turned his faceplates away. Bringing his servo up to his face and dragging it down slowly, he avoided the war frames optics.  

It was the shutter of an optic and the mech was almost chest to chest with him, looking over his face plates with some entitled scrutiny. The mech was judging him, criticising an appearance he couldn't help, that he couldn't change-

“You shouldn’t hide them,” Convoy whispered with his intake so close to his own, causing an involuntary shudder to rattle his plating. 

“They make you look… experienced. Yeah. Tough,” Convoy seemed to understand his position and pulled away slightly. 

Megatronus’ spark gave an involuntary shudder. That shudder turned into a compulsion. The compulsion travelled through his lines, down his arm and before he knew it that shudder was an action. 

He had taken Convoy's chin between his digits and kept their face plates close. 

In that moment the warframe wasn't a naive pretty face. He was a mech down on his luck, forced into the same position they all were. He was the mech Megatronus had only caught glimpses of in the arena and passing in the halls. He was a magnificent fighter, strong and stoic on the field but oh so juvenile in private. 

Megatronus kissed him. 

It was impulsive. Completely and utterly an impulsive move. But he was committed. Committed to the shutter in his spark. When Convoy didn't respond Megatronus parted his mouth in slightly encouragement. 

And then finally,  _ finally, _ The warframe seemed to catch on. 

Convoy kissed back with a clumsy abandon, as if he hadn't done it much before. He tasted of paint and cleansers, a stark difference from the usual energon and oral lubricant of past partners. It was clumsy yes, with all the tact of a new-build1, but it was comforting to confirm that yes, in fact, Convoy found him attractive too. 

Comforting. Maybe that's what Convoy's field was. Untainted by the hell of the pits. 

Primus, he was going to get back into poetry wasn't he?

Megatronus lead him, calming his awkward pace and bringing their lips into a more sensual pace. 

Convoy pulled away first, optics half shuttered but still so full of awe. He looked… lost. Well not quite lost but definitely not himself at that moment. 

And then his face scrunched up awkwardly, as if his fuel tank flipped and it twisted his internals. 

“Convoy?”

The warframe placed a hand on his chest and gently pushed him back a step. The air went stale between them and for a moment Megatronus thought he may had misstepped. He took a vent, aiming to apologize but Convoy interrupted first. 

“Ah, sorry,” The warframe looked as if he had been the one to offend him, still cringing inwardly to himself, “I don’t mean to be rude but it’s late, and both of us should be getting rest for tomorrow.”

Slowly the other mech moved to the door, opening the panel and motioning outward, the implication clear. Megatronus hesitated a moment, trying to make sense of their interaction but found himself at a loss of words for once. So instead of making more of a fool of himself, he moved out the door, nodding a simple goodbye before making it fully through the exit. 

He hadn’t done anything wrong. Or had he? Had he violated some stupid Iaconian social cue?

A soft, “Goodnight Megatronus,” was all he offered before shutting the door. 

Personally?

Personally, Convoy was becoming more of a threat than he would admit out loud. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FEED ME DOPAMINE PLEASE


	4. Death Match

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soundwave derives a plan to learn more about convoy when his usual methods don't work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please feed me happy brain chemicals

“I’m not supposed to be in the death match pool.” Convoy’s voice was almost stoic, laced with small panic as he ran his hand over the schedule. He looked around himself, at the other mechs crowded around the board, as if someone may offer help for the issue at hand. No one did. 

Megatronus watched from the back of the crowd with Soundwave, ever stoic beside him. He simply watched for a moment; but only a moment before he met Convoy’s optics. There was a desperation there, confusion; an expression Megatronus may have once revealed in but now only caused him concern. 

Before he noticed convoy was already wading through the gathered mechs towards him and Soundwave, Optics locked with his own. 

“Megatronus please,” Convoy started talking even before he has reached them, “Please, you have to talk to the owner. I can’t kill another mech.” Ever so expressive in private, the mech was stoic still in public, as if the more optics on him, the more his personality drained from him.

Megatronus stood, frozen in place. Convoy was before both of them and by the twitch in his knees, the gladiator could almost see the warframe kneeling before him. But by some unknown grace he held himself up, his optics conveying what his stoic tone could not. 

“ _ Megatronus; has better things to do then attend to the needs of privileged mechs, _ ” Soundwave answered for him. However rude the answer was there were easier ways to deal with the problem. 

“Have your patron talk to him, it must just be a scheduling error,” Megatronus suggested before moving past him and towards the board himself. 

Convoy wheeled around, reaching out and gripping for Megatronus. He didn’t say anything, and at that moment simply begged with his optics. They stayed like that for a beat, their kiss from weeks ago playing over and over in his mind's eye. The way they had held each other, even briefly, they way Convoy cutely fumbled through the interaction, how easy it was to just go along with it…

How quickly Convoy had pushed him away.

Megatronus pulled his arm away from him, lashing out his EM field in an annoyed thrust before continuing forward and away from the other mech. 

But Convoy persisted. 

Convoy grabbed his arm again, this time with significantly more force. Enough grip to bring Megatronus to a stop, Soundwave pausing only a pace later. Yet not enough to dent the joint of his wrist.

“Megatronus,  _ please.  _ Please, I don't have another option,” Convoy ebbed more emotion into his voice. And for a moment, just briefly Megatronus wanted to help him. 

In that moment of weakness the words already formed in his processor, a small confirmation and a chat with the arena head were all it would take to have the issue rectified. Really, and if Convoy was this desperate would it really be such a problem to so this small thing for him?

Save him from having to kill another mech?

“ _ Convoy; sounds like he’s scared, _ ” If Megatronus would have guessed he would have said Soundwave sounded teasing; smug almost. Not that the mechanical drown of his voice box would allow for much emotion. But when you've spent as long as Megatronus had with a mech, you pick up on things. 

Convoy's grip tightened further. Megatronus looked him in the optic and they shifted, their usual bright blue a more deep cerulean. His lip pulled up in a small almost unnoticeable twitch of emotion Megatronus couldn't quite place. 

“If I was scared, wouldn’t I be asking you to spare me? Rather than taking my chances asking the champion for help? What are you? A lithe data frame? Are you sure I'm the one that should be scared?” Now he could place the emotion. Poorly concealed anger. 

Angry at what though? 

Megatronus yanked his arm away again. Now several mechs watched around them, shooting them a small side-eye as if pretending they weren't interested. Megatronus knew better. 

He flared out his field in a more stern, more concentrated rasp of annoyance, this time bordering on his own anger. 

It was if Convoy immediately came back to himself. His optics lightened, his sneer fell back into a stoic thin line between his lip plates and he overall looked… clearer. That… that felt wrong. The entire exchange felt wrong.

“Figure it out yourself high caste,” Megatronus growled out, his tone harsh. If he was going to throw insults around like nothing, he could deal with this problem himself. 

Convoy turned coy, his faceplates and plating scrunching up on himself. The grimace was familiar; an echo of their kiss. It was awkward and just… wrong. 

Why did Megatronus come back to that word?

Convoy nodded, bowing his helm slightly, “I apologize. I’m sorry.”

He pivoted quickly, wheeling around and leaving in a determined flurry. He seemed more nervous than anything, a repeat of his sudden change the night they kissed. 

It was concerning. Maybe he would help him out after all…

“ _ Megatronus: too busy to waste time. Convoy: can help himself, _ ” Soundwave continued towards the posting, not sparring a beat.

“You know something, don't you?”

Soundwave didn't pause as they approached the board but neither did Megatronus, both looking up and inspecting the next set of matches.

“ _ Soundwave: is learning pieces; small pieces. _ ” 

Megatronus hummed in response. Though Soundwave's concern concerned him in turn, it was best to allow the mech to gather what information he could. The mech put them both on guard and his behavior was only getting more and more bizarre. 

Megatronus found his own name and rolled his shoulders in a small relief. Nothing serious this match then. Not even a death match this week (Being the reigning champion did have its own perks) meaning he could take it easy at training and have a few more hours extra time to write. 

“And what of his processor?”

Soundwave looked to him almost surprised, but the emotion came off as forced, “ _ Soundwave: was being obvious? _ ”

He wasn’t, not really. But the number of times he had verbally objected or voiced his concerns spoke otherwise. Besides, if Soundwave had solid evidence there was something wrong with the mech, he wanted to know. 

“What is it? Some sort of Shadowplay? Neurosurgery?” It would explain at least in part his often sudden changes In behavior. Though he didn’t  _ seem  _ shadow played. Unless the process had recently gotten an upgrade? A deluxe version for high castes? 

Megatronus wouldn’t put it past them. 

“ _ Shadowplay: Not likely, _ ” Soundwave responded quickly. He swiveled his head quickly, taking stock of who was around them before continuing, “ _ Soundwave: cannot read Convoy’s processor. _ ”

Megatronus raised an optical ridge. 

“ _ Convoy’s Processor: Jumbled; disorganized. Soundwave; cannot hear Convoy’s synopsis through the noise. _ ”

That… made no sense. If Soundwave's uncanny telepathy came from hearing the slight electrical pulses in one's processor, wouldn't it be impossible to have a large jumble of them? Other than mechanical subroutines thought processes were linear, synopsis fired one at a time. Megatronus wasn't fully educated in the process but Soundwave had tried to explain it to him one time. 

That linear firing of electrical pulses is what allowed the visored mech to decipher what a mech though. If multiple lines were firing at once-

“So what? He fires multiple processes at once?”

“ _ Soundwave: has no idea. Convoy: sounds like a busy crowd of mechs, _ ” Soundwave bowed his head, some sort of idea forming in the back of his processor no doubt. But Megatronus had asked him to gather information, no harm in letting Soundwave carry out the mission. 

The idea though of multiple mechs on once processor brought the idea of a gestalt to mind, though Convoy seemed too small for that to be possible. 

A new form of humiliation? Throwing multiple mechs in one frame? Megatronus voiced his concerns. 

“ _ Soundwave: has plan to find out. _ ”

The Gladiator pointed a slim finger up onto the board, drawing Megatronus’ attention to the listing for Convoy's fight. It took a moment for him to pick out exactly what Soundwave was interested in but when he did it hit him like a train. 

Convoy's opponent was Soundwave. 

“You rigged it?” Megatronus asked. 

Soundwave nodded as if the revelation explained itself. Though the only conclusion Megatronus himself could draw was the fact Soundwave was going to understand the mech and then kill him with the information. 

“I don’t understand how killing the mech is a good use of understanding. Not to mention if he is somehow Shadow played, or something of the sort recruiting him would be in our best interest, not murdering him.” Megatronus kept his tone stoic and relaxed despite the concern lacing his spark. 

Sure he was angry at the mech but planning a murder? That was new territory. 

Though he supposed it wasn't too far from what they did in the pits anyway. It still felt wrong though. 

“ _ Convoy: likely has sympathetic ties. Soundwave: will know who they are when he contacts them to get his match changed, _ ” Soundwave provided, “ _ Convoy’s Patron: likely knows Convoy's real name. _ ”

Then the pieces fell into place. It wasn't a murder attempt at all. Just a way to get contact information. Or at the very least another lead on the mech. 

“Sometimes you’re smarter than anyone gives you credit for,” Megatronus smiled back at him, feeling the calm appreciation in his companions field. 

Now, just to make sure everything went according to plan. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things don't go as planned


	5. Murder your friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MURDER YOUR FRIENDS MURDER YOUR FRIENDS MURDER YOUR FRIENDS MURDER YOUR FRIENDS MURDER YOUR FRIENDS MURDER YOUR FRIENDS MURDER YOUR FRIENDS MURDER YOUR FRIENDS MURDER YOUR FRIENDS MURDER YOUR FRIENDS MURDER YOUR FRIENDS MURDER YOUR FRIENDS MURDER YOUR FRIENDS MURDER YOUR FRIENDS MURDER YOUR FRIENDS 
> 
> unedited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People were predicting Soundwave was gonna die. Hm.

Soundwave presented him with a single message, sent only the night before their match. When Soundwave said he had finally messaged someone, Megatronus had expected something a little more than… well this. 

Send someone non-suspicious. I need help.

-OP. 

Followed by a set of coordinates  Megatronus recognized as the arena's. 

But that was it. And Soundwave had spent the entire night deciphering it. It was a massive effort for something so… so small. A message for help from another high caste. But why sent so late? The mechs, if traveling from the north, would barely make it on time anyways. 

But Soundwave wasn't done. 

He extended a long digit, pressing it to the signature at the bottom of the message. 

_ OP. _

Initials. Likely part of his designation. 

“Barely an answer Soundwave,” Megatronus hummed, “Millions of mechs could have those initials.”

Soundwave politely pulled the datapad back before typing quickly into it. 

“ _ Signature; familiar. Recognized; from online forums. _ ”

His SIC handed the datapad back, this time displaying a bound of messages he hadn't seen before. Its main focus though was an audio file, both embedded and transcribed making up most of the screen. Bellow it, a small paragraph of what Megatronus could only describe as criticism. 

_ The more I listen to this the more I can't help but bring up two points. The first, a familiar complaint I've had with almost all of Megatronus’ speeches. I fear Megatronus has continued to ignore the fundamental problem with all of his arguments. He had a talent; no. A primus given gift for tearing apart and analyzing the problems our entire society faces. But once again, as we've seen over and over, he fails to provide any sort of solution to the fractures in front of him. Time again and again I await the moment in a speech where he turns his thesis towards the future- a solution to the disparity of our political system. It is not as if better political systems exist within the galactic council. But I digress. You have heard me rant on that point over and over.  _

_ The second, the more I listen to the wording in this speech, the more I hear a change in tone. ‘Together, as a single unit, we shall bring the change needed…(line 57)’ or in a more poetic verse, ‘Bonds and co-operation are our only strength against our oppressors…(line 256)’. He uses allusions to some sort of two sided alliance in both his build up, and wind down. Something in me can not help but feel as if he is talking to someone specifically.  _

_ Discuss.  _

_ -OP. _

“It proves very little,” Megatronus hissed. How dare a mech, hiding behind some sort of screen criticize him. He was doing more than anyone else was for the movement. 

Megatronus wouldn't admit, perhaps, by some miracle, that the mech was right in his criticism. 

“ _ Sound file; not a re-upload, completely original. File; of Megatronus’ speeches to Starscream, _ ” Soundwave pointed out, confirming that this OP had at least been in the crowd that day.

“Convoy left the arena straight after his match, there is no way he was there for it,”  Megatronus argued. Though this was looking to be less and less of a coincidence. 

Soundwave dragged a slim digit over the screen, scrolling it up to the top of the post and then pointed at the poster's screen name. 

_ XxConvoYxX  _

Not a coincidence. 

“ _ Convoy; sympathetic Critical; but sympathetic. Posts; started approximately one Stellar rotation ago. _ ” Sounwave buzzed at him. 

Sympathetic, and Soundwave was going to fight him in the pits today. Megatronus’ helm swam. 

Even worse. It painted a whole new picture of the mech. 

One of a bot down on his luck, scrambling for any connection he could in the pits for help. In this case, a revolutionary preaching equality, someone whom he likely thought would help simply out of principal. Instead Megatron had hunted his identity down, to the point he was willing to kill him for it. Alienated him when he desperately asked him for help and approved of taking a risk with his life. 

Megatronus had misstepped, and someone else was going to pay for it. 

The crowd in the stadium in front of the roared. 

Two beaten and dirty mechs dragged themselves out of the ring and back into the dark of the backstage area. Both mechs looked up at the screen, and a nervous wave passed over them. 

The screen booted up with a small animation and both Convoy's and Soundwave's names blinked into view. 

Soundwave passed the datapad back into Megatronus hands, clasping his digits over his for a moment. Soundwave nodded into a small bow before letting go and turning towards the exit. 

Megatronus scanned the fighters crowded down there, looking for Convoy. Then a glint of Blue right by the door. The red and blue mech climbed the slope into the arena with the grace of a Commander entering a battlefield. His gait was even, firm with a determined field pressing over him. 

Megatronus didn't know if Soundwave was going to win this. 

A whole new flash of fear blinded him and before he knew it both mechs lined themselves up in the middle of the pit, facing each other. Convoy, brandishing a longsword that looked surprisingly small for his frame. Opposed to him, with his back to Megatronus, Soundwave held nothing more than a small dagger in his grip. 

The bell rang. 

They danced. 

Soundwave's main strategy usually revolved around tiring his opponent, Landing small but tiring hit with his data cords. Convoy simply prodded along, falling into step with the mech before him as they fought. 

With ever step, ever hit, Megatronus' spark casing seemed to tighten around his life force. An innocent, or his general; a decision he permitted but had not choice in and it was tearing him apart. 

Shockwave landed a blow to Convoy's mouth, ripping the battle mask open yet not completely off. Now visible, Convoys mouth was pulled in an impassive line, never giving anything away. 

But they had, once, for Megatronus. Idly, as the twoech reached for each other's throats, Megatronus brought his digits up to his own lip plates. The clumsy, nervous motion of Convoy's playing over them as if they had imprinted there. The lips of a revolutionary, in an unfamiliar place, asking the only mech he knew for help. 

And Megatronus had sent him to his death. 

Soundwave landed another hit, this time tearing Convoy's lip open. It wasn't long before the red and blue mech was slowing, now planting himself and only focusing on defense. Soundwave brought the dagger up this time, occupying his opponent with a data cable. The dagger aimed for his neck cabling; Megatronus could see the glint of it, could see the opening there and-

Convoy gripped the outstretched cable, yanking on it just enough to pull Soundwave's dagger against one of his smoke stacks. It also pulled the lithe mech close to Convoy's chest, and he held him there for a moment. 

Then his lip plates moved, and he whispered something to Soundwave, inaudible to anyone else. 

Soundwave pushed, and they separated. 

Convoy flung back to pace with a renewed energy. Though he was not as fast as Soundwave, he hit harder, took a few more risks. It left himself open on occasion, allowing Sounwave another few good jabs but also proved fruitful. 

Convoy got his first damaging hit in. It was well placed, well timed and a good swing to Soundwave's side, gashing it open and exposing critical internal components. It was a good hit, Megatronus could admire it from a tactical standpoint.

Still, his spark lurched. 

Convoy sprung off the hit, twisting and swinging into two more blunt hit with the pommel of his sword. One, to Soundwave's wound, causing him to lean forward for another opportune hit to the mechs helm. 

It was Soundwave's stagger back, the roar of the crowd, the passive look on Convoy's face that told him all he needed to know. Megatronus had fought enough in the pits to know exactly when the end of a fight was nearing. 

Convoy pulled back and allowed Soundwave to compose himself. It was a polite gesture, but one that was completely useless nonetheless. 

It wasn't long before Convoy had Soundwave on his knees before him. 

Soundwave struggled several times. His stabilizers, now covered in energon, twitches as he attempted to bring himself back to a stand. He raised his arm, extending a data cable out along with his dagger; a motion Convoy easily evaded. 

Convoy took a moment, looking over Soundwave with interest. Around him, the crowd sung for his opponents end. Megatronus held his breath. 

Convoy took his time, in an uncharacteristic yet sadistic display. He crushed Soundwave's data cords beneath his pedes and drew a long sound byte from the silent mech. From behind Megatronus several mech spat. 

One actually called out, “Just end it Tower Whore!”

Convoy's optics jolted towards them, locking with Megatronus’. 

He raised the sword again, maintaining contact for a moment before turning back to the immovable Soundwave before him. 

Megatronus couldn't tear his optics away. 

And then, Convoy crouched down. 

With his sword still somewhat raised, he shifted the thing around, and brought it towards himself. Then, as if trying desperately not to think about it, lodged the thing into his opposite shoulder. 

For the first time ever, the crowd went silent. He drove it in further, and then smacked the pommel of the sword, effectively dislocating and severing the limb's wiring. And then, with a grunt he yanked the thing out.

Convoy huffed, air puffing out of his vents and disturbing the sand around him. He heaved the sword with his good arm, shifting it into Soundwave's servos. 

Soundwave looked almost scared. 

All Convoy provided was a small nod, and pressed his other shoulder into the blade. 

Collapsing beside each other, the entire arena, including both mechs fell still. 

And for the first time in arena history, a death match ended with no death at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the comments and love. It means a lot.


	6. Solving Mysteries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatronus is sent on a mission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back... hahaha
> 
> Sorry not a lot of romance here. Just Megatronus feeling guilty.

There were few things in Megatronus’ life that scared him more than getting two innocent mechs killed. The only two things he could think of on top of it were cave-ins, and acid pits. 

Megatronus sprinted after the medic's gurneys that carried both injured mechs. Pushing past the crowds that had formed in the tight hallways of the arena became more difficult the closer they got to the medical bay. The two had amassed quite the crowd and breakdown who had been assigned to the medical bay door was having trouble managing the confused fighters and patrons alike. 

Anger was a good propelling force. And one that Megatronus realized produced an aura about him that had mech bend to him. It had benefitted him greatly up until now, and he could feel himself falling into a routine of using it to part crowds. Anger was a great tool, and so he hung onto that long enough to get into the medical bay. 

Anger kept the fear at bay.  

When he finally reached the medical bay Breakdown bowed to him, and stepped aside. The yelling didn't stop as Megatronus entered the bay; it simply became more distinct. He could distinguish Senator Ratbat and the arena master immediately. But there was a third voice with an accent like Ratbat's that joined in every so often. 

He stopped at one of the medical staff. It was a mech he knew, and he offered a stiff glare. The mech immediately explained, “Ratbat’s furious- wants his money’s worth but Convoy’s patron isn’t even in the building. The master has his tailpipe in a twist over  the situation.”

All Megatronus’ self-preservation protocols screamed at him to leave the room and let this play out without his intervention. It was a risk to the cause to garner attention from any mech from Iacon let alone a senator but he had questions. 

Questions only Convoy could answer. 

He brushed the medic aside and made for bay four. The budget for repairs was small and so the 'bays’ were more of separated beds by nothing more than insulation sheets. Often times there were multiple slabs to a bay as well. But it was as he moved the pull back the entrance sheet that that feeling of foreboding took over him. 

It was a warning he realized; and if he had any idea of whom it was from, then it was Soundwave. 

So Megatronus waited. And he listened. 

“- Payment!” only Ratbat could shriek like that. 

“And you’ll get it!” The arena master ensured. From behind the sheet he could see Convoy's twitch as the arena master all but yelled beside him. Ratbat stood by Soundwave's berth-- only really distinguished by his slim but tall shoulders. In the corner across from them sat a third mech. 

He was indistinguishable save for a set of oddly shaped protrusions out of the mechs back.They looked like oddly shaped wings.  

“Payment is due from a betting pool,” The mystery mech spoke stoically, “Your rules lack a clause for these situations and I don't believe It's our responsibility to pay for repairs. Any rules made to do so at this moment are clearly an act of bias and will be contested.”

Ratbat stuttered, “I will not be haggled by some  _ enforcer _ who doesn’t even own the gladiator in question!”

Megatronus was starting to get the sinking feeling he knew why Soundwave had warned him from entering.  

An enforcer here was not good news. Would the work of a single Senator be enough to shield them all from a full-on scandal. 

“Convoy’s current patron is not able to arrive at the moment. Now. Back to the legality of these medical stations-”

“Friend. Or Foe?”

Megatronus whirled around, looking for the voice that had sounded a little too close for comfort. He had assumed it had come from his left, but ended up doing a turn around to look for the source of the noise. 

“Who-”

“Shush. They’ll hear you. Now. Are you a friend of convoys or not? Why are you looming?”

Megatronus could  _ swear _ the vocalization was coming from  _ right in front of him.  _ Yet, there was absolutely no one there. For a moment he feared himself turned mad; Absolutely insane. But the voice speaks once again. 

“You had seemed concerned I had assumed-”

“Friend,” Megatronus cut the mech off in turn. It's a lie he wished to change. Though Convoy would likely hate him for what he had done the guilty pit in his spark told him it was the correct answer. 

“Good,” the voice said. 

There was a soft popping noise, and then a tap on his back. His battle protocols kicked in and very suddenly he was completely turned around with a servo around the neck cabling of a minibot. The mech stared at him with wide, terrified optics. He registered the clawing at his servo almost an entire click later as the mech whispered harshly at him. 

“Friend my aft! Put me down!” The mech, a bright and shiny blue and white continued his fight to no success. Megatronus’ optics roamed over the mechanism in an assessment. He almost released him, but the stark read sigil on his chest gave Megatronus pause. 

_ A member of the primal vanguard.  _

_ Had they come after him? _

He showed no fear, “Tell me why a member of the Prime’s personal team of cyber hounds is sneaking around a pit in the middle of Kaon?”

The small mech actually spat oral lubricant at him. Megatronus didn’t flinch.Instead, he shuffled his grip of the smaller mech to the scruff at the back of his neck. “I should hand you over to Nosedive immediately-”

“NO! No-” The mech quieted himself back down to a whisper, “You said you were convoy’s friend right?”

Megatronus raised an optical ridge as encouragement. 

“Look, he’s in bad shape. Like, missing both his arms kinda bad. And this is going to be awkward but Ratchet isn’t gonna answer us.”

Megatronus let out a disbelieving huff, “His owner isn’t going to come to get him. Yeah right--”

“Not exactly! No. Convoy won’t call him and Ratchet doesn’t exactly respond well to the guard anymore… it’s a long history okay? But we kinda need him here-- Prowl can’t argue legalities forever and someone has to go get Ratchet!”

This whole situation wasn’t adding up. Not just because of the mechs awkwardly phrased plea, but the entire situation was an absolute cluster-frag of contradictions. 

What kind of mech could  _ refuse  _ a call from the Primal Vanguard?

And what kind of member of the Primal Vanguard hides from a senator? Works against a senator?

Who the frag was Convoy messed up with anyway?

_ Was this the best help Convoy could call for? _

Answers the stoic mech could answer if he was repaired. Megatron looked back at the curtain just to see the warframe’s silhouette. His mind raced back to Convoy’s pleading to get him to stop this. If only he had done so-- or at least heard the mech out. He didn’t want to fail the mech this time. But he didn’t know if he had a choice. 

“I can’t cross city lines. I don’t have travel access.” It should have been obvious from his frame type. A high caste should know that. 

“Take Convoy’s. It’s an archivist pass; full access to any city with an archive store. Rodion has a library not too far from the dead end. I’ll send you the coordinates. Leave now and you can be back by morning!” 

Megatronus dropped the mech and he landed quite elegantly. Great. He was looking for a high caste medic smack dab in the middle of one of Zeta Prime’s clean up Projects. But one glance back between Soundwave and Convoy had him actually thinking the situation over. 

“Fine,” he agreed, “I’ll find this medic.”

The mech nodded, “Convoy’s stuff should be in his room. I’ve got to go-”

He thought he had glitched, the mech disappeared without any warning. It left Megatronus questioning his own sanity for a click, but the weight in his servo still stayed. Cautiously,  he let go, and with little more warning, he was alone again. 

Megatronus wasted no time striding back out of the medical bay. 

He had a house call to make. 

* * *

The train was probably the most awkward thing Megatronus had experienced. 

He had never been past Kaon on Cybertron. He’d seen photos of course, but to actually travel was a new experience. The ticket master had given him a strange look when he had handed ower the archivist pass, but other than a skeptical glance, they hadn’t actually asked any questions, and instead shooed him on. He had expected at least some questions; namely if he had stolen the thing, which he had. But they simply let his board the express route from Kaon to Rodion. It would take a few hours; so Megatronus settled himself in for a night cycle of writing. 

Or he would have if an attendant hadn’t moved him to the back of the train; along with the other low castes. Well, the short of the entire discussion ended with Megatronus remembering he was travelling on a stolen pass and quietly agreeing. The cart wasn't as kept, but it was at least quieter. The only other two mechs that joined him were some construction mech and a disposable minibot. 

They still eyed his gladiatorial markings with suspicion more common on an enforcer. 

He kept to himself in turn, writing as they flew along the magnetic track. It was awkward to say the least. 

The trip through Rodion to the dead end was no better. Convoy’s pass had covered city to city travel but not internal travel. So with a construction alt, that wasn’t exactly road legal he was stuck to walking. Again, he got awkward looks from pretty much everyone as he stormed down the road towards the Vanguard’s coordinates. His bulking battle armour stuck out more against the backdrop of leakers as he spiralled down into the pits of Rodion. 

It became apparent when he had reached the dead end. Buildings were all but held together with a standard welder. Mechs and femmes alike were strewn around the street even during the dark cycle. Had Megatronus not been a fortified gladiatorial behemoth, he might even have been nervous to walk the streets alone. 

He had expected to happen upon one of Zeta Prime's new ‘revitalization’ projects as he closed in on the medic's coordinates. 

Instead, he found a small building much like the others, with an illuminated sign in the window. 

_ Medic. Open. _

This seemed wrong. Then again, when had anything about Convoy been right?

The door opened with a small chime to announce his presence. He had to awkwardly shuffle his shoulder guards into the door but once in, the waiting room wasn't too cramped. It didn't look much better than the outside. Floor panels were welded and ground down to an attempt a level flooring and the chairs in the office were mismatched. The lights were kept dim, which Megatronus thought off for a business, but kept silent about. But other than small shuffling from down an adjoining hall, the medical bay seemed empty. 

So Megatronus sat himself down near the front desk and stayed silent. 

He had occupied himself with some interface pamphlet when someone emerged from the back hall. The medic was wiping down his hands as he wadded into the waiting room. 

“Did ya fill out a form?” The medic, who Megatronus assumed was some assistant to the ex-chief medical officer nodded at him. 

“No, I-”

The mech scowled, “I can’t help ya if you don't fill out the form. This is a medical facility. We have rules. Why does no one understand that-” the mech turned and walked back out of the room.

Megatronus just blinked at the empty archway, unsure how to proceed. 

Deciding that he wasn't going to get anywhere just sitting around, he lumbered himself to the hall and peeked around. 

“I’m actually looking for someone,” He announced. 

“Depends who you are then.”

He followed the mech's voice to the third room in. The medic was scrubbing down the medical berth and paused as Megatronus came into view. 

“You can’t be back here,” Ratchet shooed him with one hand, “And if you think someone in here owes you a debt or something know I got a few enforcer friends and I ain’t scared to call 'em.”

“Actually, I’m looking for a medic. Ratchet. I was told I could find him here.”

The medic didn't stop cleaning, now leaning down to scrub the underside of the berth. He let out a scoff, “Yer lookin at him. Make it quick. I still got two booths to clean and my assistant was a no-show tonight.”

Megatronus blinked dumbly at him. 

“What?” Ratchet asked. 

“No,” Megatronus tried to clarify, “I’m looking for the old Chief medical officer for Sentinel Prime. CMO Ratchet.”

Ratchet stopped scrubbing and stood up straight. He glared, “Yer lookin at him. Now, what’s a gladiator want with a chief medical officer.”

Megatronus explained, Still half in disbelief that a mech Working in the dead end was some hotshot. But, he explained Convoy's situation and the fact he needed his patron and wouldn't call him. Convoy would just have to deal with whatever beating Ratchet would give him later. His life was more important. Megatronus left out the part about this being his fault. 

Ratchet had put down the cleansers by now and instead sat himself down on the berth. He had nodded throughout the story but hadn't seemed entirely interested.

“Sorry. I don’t know anyone by that designation.”

_ No.  _ Megatronus hadn't come this far to not find Convoy's patron.  _ He had to set things right. He had to save Convoy _ . 

He panicked. 

“Tall mech! Blue and red War build! Cute little audial fins! Smokestacks out his shoulders? He’s… he’s an old model, but doesn't act like it-”

Ratchet's faceplates lit up. Hope sparked in Megatronus’ chest. 

“Kinda stoic? Gotta battle mask that covers half his face? Massive chest and tiny waist?”

“Yes!”

The medic's elated expression suddenly fell to something more contemplative and then suddenly very very angry. He could almost see Ratchet's fuel pressure spike. 

“ORION WHAT HAVE YOU DONE THIS TIME?!”


	7. Senator, Senator, How do You Plea?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haha.
> 
> Magatronus arrives back in Kaon with Ratchet in tow.

The train ride was once again, very awkward. At least this time it was for an entirely different set of reasons. 

Ratchet was a madman. 

He had first lectured Megatronus on stealing another mechanisms travel pass. Not for the ethics of it, but rather the danger. Apparently he had been lucky. A lot of the odd looks he had received from at the train station had been because of Sentinel Prime's personal pass code attached to the pass. Had it not been there it was likely he would have been arrested for theft. 

Good to know. 

When they arrived back at the station Ratchet produced a similar pass, though the identifier was medic rather than archivist. When they went to board, Megatronus started to move to the back of the train. Ratchet stopped him. 

“Oh no ya don’t. We got lots to talk about.”

“But the caste-” He attempted to argue. 

“Ain’t mean nothing. As far as they know we're Sentinel’s old attendants traveling together,” Ratchet brushed off. 

They boarded and sat together. The odd looks didn't stop, but at least no one bothered them. 

The train took off, the light of morning just starting to peek through the upper levels of the buildings above. Megatronus leaned his head back against the window and shuttered his optics, allowing himself to feel the warmth for a few clicks. He could feel the exhaustion of the night seeping into his joints like a wave following the momentum of their journey. He was tempted to recharge here like this, but Ratchet had other ideas. 

“I was wondering where he was getting the credits from,” Ratchet grumbled to seemingly no one and everyone at once, “And the damage.”

“We never fought,” Megatronus felt the need to add. 

If that meant something to the medic, it didn't show. 

“So, moment of truth,” Ratchet sighed, “If he ain't coming here himself, what kind of mess is he in? I'm not walking in to ruptured internals am I?” 

The medic's abrasive tone became recognizable then. He talked of Convoy--  _ Orion  _ as a bother; a thing he had to  _ deal  _ with. It would have been aggravating if it had been any other patron in the arena. 

But Ratchet wasn't really a Patron was he? He hadn't even known Convoy--  **_Orion_ ** had registered him as his owner, let alone what that meant. As far as the medic new, Orion stumbled in, paid his rent and for some repairs, and then helped around the clinic before wandering off and restarting the process. It was both concerning and reassuring. 

It meant that Ratchet wouldn't be angry at Convoy--  **_Orion._ ** For throwing the fight. It meant that annoyed tone he held was a cover for concern. 

“He ripped off both of his arms,” Megatronus responded in a huff, “medic's have already clamped the main lines, but he refuses anything past that.” 

Ratchet swore under his breath, leaning forward and placing his hands on his head. His leg tapped with an expression of nerves, but eventually he leaned back and spoke, “If we’re smart, he learned a few things in the clinic and at least severed them cleanly.”

Megatron nodded. 

He reminded himself that this was a good chance for answers, and dared to ask one himself. 

“So how do a CMO and an archivist for the late Sentinel Prime end up in the dead end?” 

Ratchet let out a sigh, shifting his body to face Megatronus a little better in his seat. He seemed to think over the question, like he had to piece together his own story a little bit. 

Ratchet crossed his arms and lowered his voice, “I can tell you I quit. I don't have to tell you that whole senate was corrupt as slag. My skills are better used here. It's a lot of pro bono work, which is why I don't think I questioned it when Orion came back with credits. I was desperate to find a set of replacement Optics for some twins at the time. Before I knew it he was helping out around the clinic as well. ”

But ratchet shrugged, shifting awkwardly and bringing his gaze down to his own lap, “Orion just kinda showed up one day; Reformatted and begging for a place to stay for a while. We knew each other back when we both worked for Sentinel so I think that's why he came to find me. He was quiet back then too- not a lot of friends. But I suppose that's just how it was working for Sentinel, he had this whole thing against sentimentality. Day after he shows up though, Sentinel is announced dead, half the primal vanguard is fired and some Senator is on trial.” 

Megatronus took pause at that. Orion never said anything about any of that. The entire story reeked of upper class corruption. It also, as usual, only raised more questions. Had Orion be force into a military frame to Protect the new Prime after Sentinel? Was it a punishment? Had Orion seen what had happened that night cycle? 

He didn't like it. 

Ratchet didn't seem to like it either. 

“I wish I could offer something helpful,” Megatronus tried, “But he's been an enigma ever since he arrived if I'm being honest.” 

“How does he do?”

“Pardon?”

“In the arena,” Ratchet clarified, “Does he- you know, win?”

Megatronus nodded, and Ratchet smiled. 

“Good,” Ratchet trailed off, “At least the dents were worth it then.” 

They fell into a relative silence. This early in the day cycle there were few mechs actually on the train. It gave them a good amount of privacy for the rest of the ride into Kaon. And judging by the time, he at least had the chance to catch a bit of recharge before the train pulled in.

* * *

 

They arrived part way through the morning. The arena at least had calmed externally, though as they approached the deeper levels, signs of the uproar still clung to mechs they passed, as if a general unease had settled on the building. Most mechs eyed Ratchet, knowing exactly who he was almost on sight; Convoys owner. 

Well, weren't they all in for a surprise. 

They pulled around the corner of the medical bay, only to be stopped by a familiar ‘pop!’. 

“Mirage?” Ratchet looked taken aback only briefly, and very suddenly his expression turned to a glare, “I should have known you afts would be involved. Of course--” 

“No time!” Mirage looked panicked, as if something was about to explode and they didn't have time to stop it. 

He grabbed Ratchet by his forearm, and dragged him into the already cramped medical bay. Megatron followed, standing in the doorway, and keeping the curtain open with the back of his servo. 

They were still arguing. 

“Finally!” Nosedive snapped, “You have no idea the trouble you've caused here!” 

Ratchet snorted, “Get off your Fragging pedestal. We'll figure something out. Now hush I have work to do.” 

Ratchet was already pulling tools out of his subspace and laying them out, looking over Orion’s damage. He moved with a swiftness to his digits Megatron hadn't seen before. But it didn't last for long. Afterall, repairs wasn't what he was called here for. 

“Ratchet? The ex-chief medical officer?” Senator Ratbat came over, “This is where you ran off to? You bought yourself a gladiator?” 

Ratchet only looked up with a glare, “Oh wow. Senator Ratbat, I didn't see you there. Do you want to explain to me why I have a gladiator in pieces?” 

“Please!” Ratbat scoffed, “Yours is the one who refused to kill another gladiator. Please, it's pathetic. Where did you even pick him up?” 

Ratchet opened his mouth to speak but Orion beat him to it. “Don't fix my arms.” 

“What?”

Orion's glare was cold, calculated and deeply intense. He wasn't even looking at the senator, instead glaring at the curtain in front of himself. His jaw was set, and his joints stiff. He looked uncomfortable. 

“Don't fix it,” Orion repeated. 

“I can't not fix you,” Ratchet gruffed and continued piecing together the injured mech on the slab. 

They were going to throw Orion out. Megatron froze. He was going to get Orion killed after all. 

“They're expendables anyways. Just buy a new one,” Nosedive scoffed, “the damage to his arms is extensive. It's not worth the repairs.” 

No. No. No.

“Ratchet. Please. Don't.” 

“Actually it's not that bad. Don't whine,” Ratchet hummed. He gave one good shove to Orions shoulder and it seemed to just click into place. The gladiator wiggled his digits and tested the arm slowly, feeling It out as Ratchet attached the last of the wires. 

“And what of Soundwave? He's in pieces. And you expect me to pay for something that's almost dead?” 

Megatron didn't see it coming. 

His battle systems did, somehow, and for a brief click he was confused as why they were even online. But it didn't last long. 

Orion was up on his pedes, charging forward immediately. He pushed nosedive out of the way, and into Megatron's chest. He was at Ratbat’s throat immediately, one arm still dangling uselessly at his side. The other held around the Senator's throat, constricting with increasing pressure. 

“Orion no!” Prowl managed, stepping forward. 

He wasn't fast enough. 

“...Orion?” Was all Ratbat got out before there was a sickening  _ POP _ . 

Megatronus watched uselessness at the Senator's helm bounced onto the floor. There was a subsequent spray of energon from Ratbat’s body, and it sprayed over Orion and the wall. The noise was wet, and followed immediately by the rest of the senator crashing to the floor. 

The scene was grotesque. The senators hel rolled back and forth in a puddle of his own energon. Megatronus could see exactly where the gambling had stretched and snapped under Orion’s hold. They splayed out uselessly on the floor. 

Orion just stepped back and stared blankly at the greying frage at his pedes. He didn't say anything. 

“What have you done…?” Nosedive mumbled, still against Megatronus’ chest. 

“I'm cleaning up,” Orion mumbled, “he was nothing more than a parasite on the Primacy.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feed me comments.
> 
> I'm currently trying to stay out of the hospital and writing is my only release.


	8. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get steamy lol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back haha sorry about the wait. health has been sucky, and i'm back to working 9 hour days and i have an hour commute both ways. thank you everyone for the comments and lovely praise!

He found Orion in the wash racks. He turned the corner of the hallway, following the small trail of steam as it leaked out of the room. In the still soft light of the morning, the small trails lit in a pale yellow that lit the entire corridor and into the wash racks. 

Orion stood under the spray. Helm leaned forward against the wall as hot solvent poured down his back. From the heat emanating from the room, he could tell that the solvent was likely too hot, but if it was bothering Orion, he didn't let it show. Neither did it show if he realized Megatronus had entered the room. 

Solvent pooled and swirled in the back of his plating around his neck. Energon mixed with it and swirled in a metallic shine before Orion finally stood and brushed a servo through the liquid. It sloshed and spilled out of his Armour, splashing down and swirling into the drain with the rest of the tainted solvent. 

Megatronus starred for what was likely longer than polite by Iaconian standards before clearing his vocalizer, "Orion." 

Orion peeled his helm away from the wall, placing himself directly under the spray. He still had energon on his faceplates and it dripped down his faceplates as he took a step forward, dripping over his cheeks and lip plates as he took a step towards Megatronus. 

It was  _ beautiful _ . 

"Megatronus," Orion responded voice low but still stoic. He didn't move any closer, looking visibly uncomfortable with the situation. 

Megatronus' vocalizer caught in his throat. Orion was a picture of strength. Broad shouldered, thin waisted and covered in energon of a senator. It put a full pause to his angry rant, instead replacing it with a cooling wash of concern. 

"Your first blood," Megatronus vented and summoned whatever courage he could. He moved forward, drawing a servo up to brush against the side of Orion's faceplates, "How does it taste?" 

Orion's optics dimmed and he shuddered into the soft touch. Megatronus wiped the energon from his lip plates, coming to realize exactly how desperate Orion was for comfort right now. 

"Not my first," Orion mumbled and fully shuddered his optics, "But the most personal." 

Megatronus took Orion's servo, leading him back to the solvent and turning down the heat. Orion re-entered the spray and sighed contently.

"You knew Ratbat from when you were an archivist?"

Orion went stiff as if the gladiator's words had turned the water freezing. He reopened his optics only to look terrified up at Megatronus, "... Who told you?" 

"Ratchet and I had a long talk on the way here. And your travel pass gave it away, " Megatronus explained. He brought a servo up to offer a cleaning rag to Orion, who immediately buried his face into it. "I have some questions. Especially after what just happened." 

Orion didn't answer right away. Instead, he wiped the closet down his faceplates, struggling with what there was to say. 

Megatronus didn't think there was too much to hide. Between his job as an archivist and his sudden reformat… There really wasn't much else, was there? Other than likely something about Zeta…

Orion couldn't have… Could he? 

_ This wasn't his first kill.  _

Orion shifted, straightening himself under the spray. His hips swayed, sloshing solvent from between his hips and down his modesty panel. It pooled into small beads before running down in streaks down his pale thighs. 

Megatronus' knees almost gave out. 

"My name is Orion Pax of Iacon, former archivist of Sentinel Prime," Orion stood at attention as if addressing someone of a much higher rank, honorific and all. And for a brief moment, Megatron felt as if he was some high ranking mech addressing a shamed soldier. Orion was completely rigid, that open weakness was gone from his frame as the last few streaks of Energon fall from his plating. 

"And your reformat?" Megatronus took the opportunity to look down Orion's Frame. Every last streak of fluid, every dribble of solvent, every pool of solvent; it made him look like  Mortalius , a picturesque version of a war God, fresh out of crushing his enemies. Literally. 

A far throw away from a meek archivist. 

"Involuntary I assure you, " Orion insisted, bringing the cleaning rag up to his windshield, "I've seen the way you look at me-- stare at me. I know, it's clunky, overbearing, flashy and completely disproportionate." 

Megatronus gaped. Did Orion not actually know how attractive he was? Did he really think he was some burly, showy brute? 

But the mechs in Kaon were large, think plating in almost everywhere-- built for labour and to last long without repairs. And Iconians were mostly small, delicate and fragile little things. Somehow Orion Pax wasn't any of those things. He was a war frame. Built to concur, with balanced speed and power, a delicate line that made his frame gorgeous, but different from every other mech. 

Orion Pax was lonely. 

"I don't doubt being stripped of your original frame could be anything but disorienting," It really was no wonder the archivist hated this frame. It wasn't his, to begin with. 

"But there's one large piece of this puzzle I can't quite figure out. You were reformatted following Sentinel's death. And it's obvious that you're hiding from the Senate. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that you were involved with something that night--" 

Orion stiffened. He gripped the wash rag with such a grip that Megatronus thought it may pop much like Ratbat’s helm had. He knew he was treading dangerously here. But he needed answers if he was going to take this any further. Desperately. It burned at his spark like a smelter. A desperate curiosity he could not quench until he finally figured this out-- figured Orion out. He needed to know what part he played in all of this. 

Zeta's killer? An accomplice? An unfortunate bystander? He supposed that didn't matter. What mattered now was what they did with that-- what Orion Pax of Iacon, former archivist of Sentinel Prime did with that. 

"-- But that doesn't matter now. What I need to know is how a mech like you goes from an archivist to a gladiator capable of taking down a mech like Soundwave." 

Because the Decepticons needed more mechs like Orion. 

"What?" Orion asked in his usual blank tone. His face was set into an angry glare, but that was about all the emotional tells Megatron could pick up on. "You want to try and… Duplicate it? Train other mechs to be war machines?" 

The gladiator squared his shoulders, "You've heard my speeches. The time to act is now. We can't wait any longer if they're reformatting mechs now--" 

Orion dropped the wash rag and let out a harsh rumble of his engine. "You seek to start a violent rebellion? Is that what you want? They will crush you and melt you down for spare parts! Following or not-- The Deceptions at your back or not! You don't know what they're capable of! And you want me to--" 

"To protect yourself! Do you expect the Senate to never find you? You use that pass so often you might as well light up like a satellite!" Megatronus argued, "To protect the mechs life you just saved! Twice! Like it or not Orion, the Senate expects mechs like us to die, and I'm not too stuck on that idea. We take action or more nights like this happen. We attack one another out of suspicion, we stage fights, we murder--" 

"You what?" Orion's entire faceplates fell into a sneer. He looked angry and Megatronus hadn't seen his expression thus open since the night of the kiss. "You stage fights?" 

A look of horrified realization washed over the now clean mechs face and immediately he switched to rage. 

"You pinned me in a deathmatch on purpose?! You were that curious?!" Orion was yelling now, rising to his full height and rumbling his engine with a furious drone, "You-- You could have gotten me killed! Could have gotten Soundwave killed! Do you know what you've done?! Do you have any idea what you started?!" 

Pax's fist slammed down on the knob for the solvent, shutting it off in an instant. He didn't bother reaching for a towel, instead wiping the excess solvent off his face with his servo. His battle mask snapped into place but the look in his optics was enough. 

"We assumed you would have your patron fix it--"

Orion pushed past him, physically pushing him out of the way, "Oh? My patron? Whom does even know I'm fighting in pit fights? He's supposed to swoop in and save me?" 

Megatronus sputtered.  _ He really hadn't known-- _

"I looked up to you Megatronus. I came here,To this pit because I thought you were right. And now you ask me to give you what? Soldiers? After you tried to have me killed?" 

Orion stopped at the door and for a brief moment brought a servo to touch gently at the place where his lips were hidden under his battle mask. 

"They were right about you. I should have never tried to get close. You disposables really  _ are _ stupid and violent."

And then he was gone before Megatronus could retaliate with some functionalist insult. 

But it got caught in his vocalizer. 

Orion had a point. 

Not about the disposables. But about him. 

Somehow that hurt more. 

\---- 

Ratchet took Ratbat’s body and Megatronus tried not to think about exactly what a desperate doctor would do with it. But he supposed that was one of the most effective ways to hide a body-- spread the parts out into still living mechs. Still, it was somewhat a morbid thought, and one he chose not to think about. 

Orion and Ratchet left together. And very soon it was only him and Nosedive sitting in his office awkwardly. The old chair held Megatronus' weight but not by much. It creaked as he shifted, trying desperately the nudge off the awkward air. 

"I want him gone Megatronus," Nosedive said. His tone was low and dangerous, with its usual threat behind it. 

What the ringmaster really meant was that Megatronus was to find a way to get rid of the tower whore by any means possible or risk being sold back off to the mines. It was a threat he knew all too well. 

But get rid of Orion how? 

He had taken down Soundwave in the ring, had connections in Iacon and The mech had shown he wasn't scared of murdering a senator in front of multiple witnesses. And that was all without mentioning the hulking warframe that was Orion Pax. 

But it was this or the mines. 

It was fighting for his life or the mines. 

It always came down to this. 

Megatronus stood, and once again the small chair creaked ominously as he pivoted around to move towards the door. He didn’t look at nosedive, but he didn’t need to for the point to set in. 

“I will deal with Orion,” Megatronus ground out, “He will be gone by the next match. I assure you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Something new, with chapters smaller than usual to give me a break from OMTOP. 
> 
> Comments and criticism always welcome.


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